Ah, who can help what will away, will away?
The Lawn with which she wont to deck
And circle in her whiter neck;
Her Apron lies behinde the door;
The strings won’t reach now as before:
Which makes her oft cry well-a-day:
But who can help what will away?
He often swore that he would leave me,
Ere of my heart he could bereave me:
But when the Signe was in the tail,